


A Moment in Snow

by LambdaHFH



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: F/M, Snowball Fight, a scene as a short story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28753722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LambdaHFH/pseuds/LambdaHFH
Summary: Fjorm takes a walk during the first snowfall of the year where her memories of home are rudely interrupted.
Relationships: Fjorm/Summoner | Eclat | Kiran
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	A Moment in Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I thought was fun. 
> 
> I don't really ship, but I'm getting dangerously close to shipping.

The first snows of winter had started to fall in Askr, covering the Order’s Keep in a comforting blanket of cool powder. In the years since she had joined the Order this day had become the one Fjorm looked forward to most. Many heroes would begin forgoing the training yards for shelter indoors, save for herself and the stray Ilian, and Fjorm would find herself able to revel in the memories in precious solitude. She didn’t often seek to be alone, but the powder brought to mind memories of home, and for better or worse she preferred to be alone.

Fjorm leaned Leiptr against the outer wall of the stable and squatted down to gather snow in her hands. As she squashed and molded the fluffy flakes into a ball visions of her sisters played out in her mind. Gunnthra’s kind hands had been ill-suited to ball making, or perhaps she simply didn’t appreciate the art. Her snowballs were always so poorly clumped, they’d half fall apart when she threw them. Compared to Yglr, whose tiny hands hid a preternatural ability for clumping and even at her young age an expert aim, Gunnthra simply didn’t stand a chance against her sisters.

Memories of snowball fights around the castle brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. Fjorm looked over her own work, a firm ball with a good heft, and stood. In her mind she could see her older sister shuffling through the snow, the drag from her skirts leaving a trail through the fresh fallen that even the most novice of hunter could follow and in those fights she and Yglr were hunters.

Pretending her sister made to duck behind the far wall of the stable for protection Fjorm suddenly bounced to her feet and reared back her arm. With practiced accuracy she let loose, the ball landing against the stable door with a satisfying thunk. Parts of the ball broke and fell away, leaving a circular ring of snow clinging to the door.

Yglr rounded the opposite corner, gleaming intent baring down on the former princess. With devastating strength, she let loose her bullet aimed straight for Fjorm’s chest. However, Fjorm was prepared, diving to the side. Years of combat training informed the shift of her dive to a roll, allowing the princess to pop back up onto her feet and take another big scoop. This was the advantage that Fjorm had in the colosseum of snow conflict. She was athletic, and quick witted. Though her balls packed quickly they were sturdy, and her sisters couldn’t match her speed.

Confidently, Fjorm reared back to unleash her shot against the memory of her younger sister when a familiar powdery force exploded against her back, causing the princess to release an unrestrained gasp of surprise. Particles of cold snow pushed passed the protective curtain of her hair to her neck, sending a shiver down and her spine. Fjorm whipped around to her assailant with an arm draped over his knee perched on the horse’s water trough, a second ball ready in his hand as a mischievous grin protruded from the heavy white cowl of his coat.

“Oh hooo!” He called out with an exaggerated swagger uncharacteristic of the Summoner. “Fjorm! It’s unlike you to be caught so unaware! Are you going soft?”

“Is it going soft to be caught unaware by an ignoble sneak attack?” The princess leveled an annoyed look at the man who interrupted her memories. “Or have you forgotten your honor, Kiran?”

Kiran’s lips curled into an amused smile as he pulled back his cowl, exposing his short messy locks to the elements.

“I come from the Atlantic Northeast, where snow falls like a headman’s axe and words like honor are hollow in the face of the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That when it comes to snowball fights…. There is no honor. Only the conqueror, and the conquered.”

“In Nifl,” Fjorm said as she pulled herself to her feet. “Snow is a matter of everyday life and is as beautiful and comforting as it can be dangerous. A snowball fight is an expression of camaraderie between friends. I cannot abide such an ideology!”

Fjorm summoned all of her dignity, all of her regal bearing into her pose. Her precious memories interrupted by such trite beliefs over a game, she wouldn’t stand for it. She was not without guile however, as her stance hide her preparations to cast, ready to strike down this new, obnoxious foe.

“Then ready yourself Prin-!” Kiran announced as Fjorm’s snowball hurdled toward his face with immense purpose. The Summoner dropped behind the trough for shelter, watching in disbelief as the ball soared overhead.

“Hey! I wasn’t ready! What happened to honor?” He called out, struggling to stifle the amusement in his voice. It was a tactic that Yglr had used to great effect against their sister, and Fjorm had already begun forming her next ball.

“What honor can there be in fighting an honorless dog?” She chided back, suppressing her grin as she rounded out her ball. “Or do you now suddenly wish for honorable combat, oh great conqueror?”

There was silence, which Fjorm would not spend idle. Every moment spent idle was one where she could be caught off guard, and she would not be caught again. Fjorm knelt to the ground and formed her second ball, waiting for his response.

A singular ball shot up into the sky in a narrow arc before plopping uselessly on the ground several feet away from Fjorm. She watched placidly, and in the silence that followed she began work on her third ball.

“Did… did it hit?” Kiran called out.

“Not even close.”

The words he uttered were unintelligible, but had the form and cadence of an obscenity, causing the princess to shake her head. Kiran finally rolled over onto his stomach, his form visible between the bottom of the trough and the ground, not yet blocked by the falling snow. Though she could not see everything, she was certain he was preparing for his next assault. In her dominant hand she readied her attack.

When Kiran popped up from behind the trough it was already too late. He had to raise from his hands and knees. He had to snatch his weapon. He had to ready his attack, aim carefully, and release. To his credit he was quick in all these things, more so than Gunnthra or Yglr, but her summoner was not a warrior and by the time he had hurled his snowball hers was already on the way to him.

Their missiles passed in the air without a word and as Kiran’s snowball passed by Fjorm’s ear harmlessly, hers carried true, smashing into Kiran’s forehead with deadly accuracy. The blow pushed the summoner back, throwing his limbs askew with a dramatic lack of restraint, collapsing into the ground with a stunted cry.

Fjorm flooded with satisfaction the satisfaction of a victorious exchange, and stood, her remaining snowballs in hand. When she arrived at the trough, she could see that her foe was beaten. Her summoner feigned soft groans; his head lolled to the side with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Rolling her eyes, the princess circled around the trough, and squatted next to Kiran.

“So, does this make me the conqueror?”

“Fjorm… I…. come…. Closer…” Kiran’s breath purposefully labored, mimicking a wounded man. Fjorm smiled as she leaned a little closer.

“Fjorm… closer… I…. don’t know how…. Much time…. I…”

Shaking her head, the princess inched closer, and fell into Kiran’s trap. The summoner’s lunged out, surrounding the princess and with a fluid motion pulled her over him, initiating a roll that sent snow flying. The princess gasped in surprised, which soon faded to open laughter as they rolled through the snow, wrestling for control. Their tumble finally ended with Fjorm firmly perched on the summoner’s stomach. She reached forward, pressing her cold hands into the heavy fabric of his coat, pinning him to the ground.

“I dare say Kiran, you appear to be thoroughly bested. How does it feel to be conquered?”

“Snowball fights are high stakes affairs… but I can’t say that I feel like I’ve lost.”

“Oh no?”

“Nah, I think I’m right where I want to be.”

The couple shared a grin brimming with amused adoration. The princess leaned down where her summoner’s lips caught hers in a warm, lingering kiss.

It was the first true snow of Askr’s winter, which meant frigid winds and short days. Many of the heroes retreated into the keep for the winter, unaccustomed to the cold with no desire to grow so, but it was Fjorm’s favorite time of year. Out in the stable yard she’d run through memories of a home she missed, and it provided her a kind of nourishment against the cold.

This year, as her lips pressed so sweetly against the summoners, her body so close to his. His arms finding their way around her, drawing her as close as possible, as if it was the only suitable distance between them, she alighted. As they snuggled into each other, she felt as though this too could be home.


End file.
